


Borderlands- "1nVA1!d"

by M13Y0



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M13Y0/pseuds/M13Y0
Summary: In a word of mostly sand and fuck up creations, six experienced yet inexperienced people team up with one girl only a quarter of a way through her life, who already almost died, to get past a "greater' villain, missing heroes, and bipolar wanna-be marauders. Money or friendship, safety or fear, an alliance with the most nefarious man or an allegiance against him. Thing is... its already happened. Listen to the story of how one woman (hey look it's you!) went from making guns to almost destroying her life using them.





	1. Are You Sure?

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains strong language, some mature themes, some crude humor, violence, and later more warnings may be added. If something in the story harms or hurts you, this story was only meant for entertainment and I apologize in advance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be one of the smallest, as it just serves to gauge if you would be interested in the following chapters or not. Nothing climactic happens, but the next chapter is sure to be filled with more action.

I asked Maria if her Dad had ever taken her to Pandora, hoping this would help me speed my story along. I’m betting not.

“No Mom.”

Told ya.

“Dad has yet to do so.” She turned to throw Gabe, who’s my husband, a small yet powerful “Dad with a Shotgun” stare.

In a grating tone, I continued. I had, well wanted, to tell this half hazy story to my 18-year-old daughter. My Ale began to slosh as my feet pushed my weight back into my seat, adjusting the pillows and the cushion in the process while staring at floaties of my last dinner I’ll have at home. The condensation began to lube up the three fingers holding the glass and I tilted the bottle to my lips.

“Okay, should I start on the time we planned on taking over Hyperion, or the time I started working for them?” Maria seemed to let the question weigh down on her more than it should have, she was her father’s daughter alright.

“Which one comes first?”

“Well…” I wanted to tell her so many exuberant work stories, but I wanted to get this traumatic, exasperation story off of my chest. Maybe if she follows her dreams she could write my story. I always loved her work.

“The “Working There” part is first- but it’s boring.”

“Okay, then how about the time you planned to take over Hyperion? Weren’t they the biggest company until someone destroyed it?”

“More like the biggest pain-in-the-ass company-”

“Woah mom,” she reciprocated. Guessing from the furrowing brows, questioning tilt, and drawback, she never heard all about it. I don’t think anyone now would have even remembered anything about it.

“Well it wasn’t someone, rather it was some people. You ready for the worst and most confusing story of your life?”

“I guess- how long is it?”

“It's a long story; About a week or two of story-telling at the most.” I could shorten it for her, but I wanted her to hear every grueling detail since she seemed to know about as it is.

“And this was over how many-”

“Sixteen Years. I started when I was 23.”

“Woah… Okay.”

I started leaning back into the recliner, shifting my weight into the pillows. My eyes focused on the clock behind Maria and started to think about it all. At first, I felt nostalgic about it all, and then I remembered all the shitty things he also did. He. The same he who I regretted standing in front of and accepting his plea, and not having an ounce of remorse ignoring his second one. Telling someone would be better right… 

Right?

“So starting off, are you sure you wan-”

“Mom, I’m 25, I’ve grown up and I think I can handle the graphic stuff.”

“Honey are you sure?” The stuff I was about to tell her was crazy then and even more so now.

“Yes, mom.”

“Okay” I set down the Dark Ale and crossed my arms.

Well here goes nothing.


	2. Blast to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recollecting the information about her beginnings of becoming a vault hunter, Becka tells the tale of how it all started and doesn't skip her gruesome beginning.

I dropped the new flattening hammer on my toe and suddenly halted to not only soak in the fact that this was the twelfth time this happened this week, but the someone who scared me into dropping it was continuously pressing the call buzzer like a Woodpecker on bark, and now I had Tommy laughing in my anguish gladly leaving for the day. I picked up the soldering iron and threateningly pretended to chuck it at him just before turning and stomping to the desk slamming my hands down. 

With gritted teeth, a forced smile, and a desperate longing feeling of irritability, I asked how the hooded man was doing. 

“Hello~” oh god not this nuisance,”I came in to talk about my gun designs again-” He placed his hands in his pants pockets and kept his face cast to the floor, just like every other time. 

“Sir, you’ve changed it 3 times this week. If you continue changing it, we will have to force you to pay extra for the scrapped guns.” 

“I swear this is my last change- it might be a little harder though.” 

He passed the crinkled blueprint over the counter with a gloved hand and began mindlessly scanning the schematics, pointing and dragging his hoodie sleeves over the print as he quintessentially described how one plus one equals two, describing an easy to read the plan. Who hears a hoodie to a gunsmith shop anyway? The design was drawn with the hand of a drunken frat boy and the words of a tweaked out crack addict. I sighed and looked at the interlocking schematic, crunching down the time it took for each of the pieces to be smelted and welded.

“This will be ready in 288 years.” 

Our years compared to earth years are crazy different. Our years are 15 hours long, meaning it would take 4,320 hours or 180 days. So on Earth, that’s about half a year. 

All together, making any gun, let alone with new tech, a hard task, but don't get me wrong- I loved it. The feeling of making a gun was somewhat euphoric. While my step dad was home and stepmom was out working, he would take me shooting and after a couple of sessions, he finally taught me how to take apart any gun I wanted and put it back together, that's just how we bonded back then. Some guns were common knowledge, but with new advancements in bullet types, gun types, and new companies, making things to fit the user got a bit tedious. 

“Do you think it could come in sooner?” And here is a common case of “I have things to do and places to be”. 

“Sir, I’m sorry, but the only way I can speed up any gun crafting process is if you either have contacts to assist or the materials.” 

“What if I…” He sifted through his pockets, fishing out a wallet and drew out the sum of $10,000 in $100 bills. I lifted the bills to the light and quickly knocked the chance of him paying, thumbing the 421 button on my ECHO made to contact emergency personnel for small cases. His first payment and it was fake, figures. 

“Sir, are you awake your money is fraudulent” 

“You are kidding right?”, he said with a huff and the cross of his arms, his words dripping in sarcasm. 

“‘Fraid so.” 

Silence. He stuffed his hand into his pocket, standing with a grimace. 

“____ is it?-”, that’s what my name tags say so yeah,”you’d better accept the money I just gave you or else.” 

“Or else..?” Annoyed, I started calculating how long it would take for the police to get to the shop.

“You are going to accept the money and make the mother fucking gun before I”, He reached in for what seemed to be an Ornery Revolver, one of Jakobs most basic guns. At most that gun might just bruise me,”have to get uh- get nasty with you.” Could he get any more cliche? He stood in a failingly confident stance, the one a kid would hold when his pride would falter.

“Get nasty with me, oh I’m so-.” 

Before I finished my sentence, he aimed his revolver at the roof and fired. The gun was everything and more than just your typical revolver. I flinched at the sound and fumbled back, shooting a choked “shit” while finding my footing, blocking my face from building debris. He must have coaxed the previous smiths to mod the gun. From the looks of it, they gave him a stronger barrel and clip while the bullets were made with more gunpowder and what looks like modified eridian crystals. Great. 

“Sir I really can’t buy anything with these counterfeit bills.” 

“Do you really think I’m that fucking dumb you cunt?” 

“Yep.” The click of the revolver's hammer and it settled in me that where he lacked in body language, be probably held up in hard-boiled determination.

Mockingly, he retorted,“We are both going to have some problems- go back into your workshop and start on the damn thing before I make your corpse unrecognizable.” 

"Wouldn't be the first time." My mouth was going to get me killed one day, possibly today.

“Oh well cry me a river." As he huffed and I rolled my eyes, beginning to turn into the workspace, the sand vans with the iconic POLICE decal skirted in and dusted the front of the shop. The sound of a slamming door caused the man to turn to the muddy windows and back to me. 

“Hah, you called the police- YOU CALLED THE FUCKING POLICE- okay now I’m really going to fucking shoot you.” A half-hearted cackle and the teasing pull the trigger prompted the police to pick up their velocity. 

They contrived the moving the aiming bit, but not the "ceasing the weapon" half of their cease and desist. His aim drifted to my hip bone and finally, he finally pulled down on the trigger, no more threats, only actions. 

It felt like the whole thing went in slow motion for me. I noted the markings, seeming drawn with a marker, which resembled a sort of gear on his left wrist, and the lines weren’t drawn very well. The muzzle left an after the image and my vision became obscured, making it damn near impossible to see the shooters face.

The officers fell with a loud thump and clatter, and the gun fell under one cop. I fell to the ground on one knee, sending a faint surge of pain and the melodious sound of a crack to fly through my body. I was in shock, and I didn’t notice the pain until one of the cops seized my shoulder and yelled for me. I couldn’t hear him, I couldn't hear anything. 

I held a finger up and began to rub my ears to coax my hearing back. The cop kneeled down and I noted his angled jaw and dark skin along with everyone else, and I placed a hand in his so I could get help up. This is when the pain kicked in, at first a mere hiss, and then it was a radiating burn, the subsequent of 100 needles prodding my skin and ripping the muscle from the bone. 

I could only hear the reverbs of the scream, and a warm burning that grew hotter and seemingly flowed down my leg. I couldn’t stand, my vision was blurred by a barrage of tears and then a sudden black void seized over me overruled my senses. 

The times I managed to open my eyes, there were workers in gowns of white, brown-speckled, trailing beside me as pale yellow ceiling lights left little after effects. When my eyes opened a fourth time, I was on a table, my face quickly covered with a plastic mask, flowing with sickly sweet gasses. I was briefly aware of my surroundings and caught the glimpse of some surgical tools. Passing out again, I forced the feeling of being delicately split to suppress itself. 

I was woken up by the sound of one of the nurses chanting my name, asking if I was okay.  

“Yah,” I start,”I’m alright.” 

“No weird sensations?” She said, crossing her arms and shuffling her feet. I tried to fix my hair til-.

"Well no but…” I turn to look at the cuff anchoring me to a metal waiting room chair. With a slight swing in her hips, she walked closer and pulled a key out of her uniform pants. A quick twist and I start rubbing my wrist, returning blood in the nooks where it ought to be replaced. Before I stood up and stretched, the nurse said something I wasn’t really expecting. 

“You have a gest waiting for you in the hall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the /sorta/ action-packed chapter I was talking about. Sorry if this was a weird cliff hanger, this is my first public attempt at one. I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to comment anything kind or helpful, leave a Kudos, or read some of my other works or the next few chapters.


	3. Dahl New You

Do people want to see me? What did I do this time? I mean I feel fine. I stood up, slightly lightheaded, and began to notice the clothing I was wearing was marginally different from what I usually wear. My pants were traded for disposable pants and my top was now a longer and flowier yet also disposable top. I felt uneasy about the looseness, but I’m guessing I should be getting my clothing back soon.

As I placed my feet flat under me, it hit me that I shouldn't be able to feel the cold blue tiled ground. The nurse walked past me, gesturing to follow and through the door frame, my frame trailing behind her into the hall. Adjacent to the room were five chairs and a trash can. One second later, I passed the taller figure and heaved stomach acid into a partially full bin. It stank, it burned, but the second I lifted my head it felt like a lump was pulled out of my throat. The same feeling as a night rightfully spent at a bar, burning through cash like I robbed a bank.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”, the larger man whispered, placing the jagged skin of his hand in the middle of my shoulder blades. I wiped a hair from my mouth and nodded. I turned my head and proceeded to thank the man, avoiding eye contact.

“So uh… who are you and what happened to me?” His brows shifted until his eyes flickered into action.

“My name is Sammy, I’m one of the cops who helped you get here, and… well, you passed out about five or six times, and lost tons of blood.” I locked my arms and steadied my balance against the trash can, staring at the puke soaked contents.

“We tried to pull the bullet, repair the right half of your hip bones, cast it, and replace the lost blood, but at the same time. A clogged artery busted and it was too hard to repair- I convinced the nurses to allow me to go into the NURS coding and place your name into the respawn system.”

“I’m guessing you took a look at my medical records?”

“Yep.” In a grand bout, he started listing of the contents, cut off at your blood type.

“Okay geez, I get it.” I shiver and cross my arms, leaning back fully onto the trash can.

“Anyway, I got your name in, and as soon as you were quantifiably dead, you disappeared and showed up in the outpatient's room.”

“Wait”, I started, something didn't feel right about how I woke up,”Why was a cuffed to a chair?”

“Well…” He slouched over and began to look down the hall. I turned to see a nurse with an ice pack on her lip and forehead. Shit.

“As soon as you began breathing, you also began fighting that nurse over there.”

“Oh god.” Well, I guess that explains the stinging on my forehead. As the woman turned to look at me, her eyes flickered, and her face turned. Guess we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe I should say something? I thanked the taller black man for updating me then turned around the trash can to talk to the small green haired nurse.

As I began to get closer, she flinched, and then he stood straight and held her ground. She looked like a dog that had just been smacked and it doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, I’m uh sorry about earlier. I didn't remember anything that happened, and honestly, I don’t think I would have done that without a warrant.” She relaxed her shoulders slightly and removed the ice pack from her pale pink lip. She was smaller and curvy, her hips angled towards me as she kept a skeptical look on her face.

“You nearly did my head in.” Her accent was thick and quite funny. Like an angry southern woman with a fat lip. She tossed the bag and reapplied her chapstick.

“Yeah, I feel really bad.”

“It’s fine. So what happened?”

“Well”, as I repeated the whole thing, seeing as she wasn't apart of my live-or-death bit, her face seems more shocked than mine was. She stuttered for a second and manage to form the sentence.

“That sounds like Handsome Jack- or one of those HJ mockers on the news now.”

“Handsome who now?” At that time I honestly have never heard or seen the man. The only thing I’ve heard about is Hyperion, which is a gun company with workers like robotic, unemotional slaves.

“You haven't- well did you see his face?!”

“No, I’m guessing he also had a gear tattoo?”

“Yeah, hold on, the officer I talked to could give you more information about the man. He wouldn’t tell me anything.” She crossed her arms again and slumped back against the counter. She went back onto her ECHO and proceeded to press the ice pack back on her lip.

“Wait, where is the cop?” I didn’t see any men or women in uniform.

“Oh yeah, the man with the blue shirt and the baseball cap.” She didn't even look up from her scroll. Oh… so Sammy is a cop. He was probably undercover or off for now.

I turned to see another man next to Sammy which looks to be Quinton, one of my older friends I hadn't seen in a while. Next to him was my workmate Gabe, half asleep and covered in some drool. Spots of grease and cigarette burns were on this shirt. Shame, it was a decent shirt.

Quinton handed me a pair of pants, my second favorite ones, and a tank top with black oil smudges.

After fixing the mess of vomit-coated tangled hair, I threw the clothes on and left the hospital issued clothes on the counter along with two used paper towels. More people piled into the halls, down the hall one family, next to the entrance, three women waiting for their chance to go into the adjacent room. I turned back out, nodded to Gabe, and shook the officer's hand, thanking him for the help.

“If you hear anything about this guy or any cases, please contact me. I know he probably wasn’t that hard to take out, but the way he switched was…” no word really fit beside,”Unnerving.”

“I get what you mean, and I actually planned on asking you your number before you left- you are the only witness so far who has been attacked.”

Figures. I gave him the line attached to my ECHO, talked to the nurse once more and apologized again before walking out of the hospital with my eyes tracing the speckled blue tiled grounds, shifting into rock and sand.

Passing my work felt weird, but also relaxing at the same time. My instructions from the nurse were to “skip work and try to relax the emotional turmoil I was dealing with.” Best yet worse prescription ever.

I turned over my echo, called Gabe seeing as he headed off in his own direction, and decided that I should probably get to work on scrapping the gun. The quicker I could get that done, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting in forever! I honestly hit a big hill of depression that pushed me away from writing, and now I think I've fallen back in love with it! I'll try posting more, but with work and school, it might be a little harder. Thank you, everyone, for following the story, I hope you all do enjoy the story thus far.


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